


Confessions

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Interrogation, Past/Present/Future, The Framework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10595625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: There were two times Jeffrey Mace asked about Jemma Simmons' loyalty to Leopold Fitz: once in the real world, and once in the Framework. But it's not until she finally gets Fitz out of his virtual trap that she finally gets to explain it to him herself.





	

**The Playground, September 2016**

 

Jemma grips at the arm of the lie detector chair and tries desperately to steady her breathing. She should be used to these by now, right?

Should be as comfortable as an old jacket.

But that sparks a memory of Yoyo’s jacket, and what would Yoyo would think of this? She’d probably agree with May; she’s the type to say that procedure slows her down. But would Yoyo find a cold sort of comfort in this? In a daily confessional? If so, Jemma envies her. Jemma is accustomed to keeping secrets; not laying them bare for a man she doesn’t trust.

The director is quiet, though. Methodical. He parcels out questions like he has a limited supply, and he has to make them last. She’d be thankful for it if it weren’t for the way his hands clasp behind his back, the way he paces as he’s mulling over what to ask her next.

She really wishes she had Yoyo’s jacket now. It would be more of a barrier than this flimsy suit coat.

“So,” says the director with that troublesome smile, “Fitz is creating a virtual reality device?”

She lets out a sigh, thankful that this is something she actually wants to talk about.

“Yes,” she says, “it’s quite brilliant, actually. It feels so real that you can smell and taste your environment. I’m hoping it can be used to help May train her team.”

“Hmm.” The director inspects his fingernails. “Could it also be used to trap people in a false reality so they divulge sensitive information?”

Jemma furrows her brow. “What? I don’t—”

“If he wanted to,” poses the director, “couldn’t he? To me, or to you, even. Make us think we’re in a safe environment and prompt us to give classified intel?”

“No, sir,” she says. “Fitz wouldn’t do that.”

The director pauses. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Fitz is an exemplary agent,” she argues. “Hard-working and loyal. I trust him implicitly.”

She hates that smile of his. It’s like a snake nesting in candy floss.

“Yes, but you’re a little biased, don’t you think? What with your—”

“Fitz and I have worked side by side for over twelve years. I know him better than anyone else. I trust him, and I have a good reason for trusting him. If you gave him a chance, you’d have reason to trust him, too.”

The director returns his attention to his fingernails. “Well, Simmons, I don’t have time to vet a new ally right now, so you’ll have to do. But I want you to be objective about this and any other projects Fitz might have. Just because you find him easy on the eyes doesn’t mean that he’s not subject to the same rules as everyone else.”

Jemma bristles. “It’s not that,” she defends. “It’s more than that, I—”

“It doesn’t matter what it is,” says the director, and Jemma can feel her unspoken words floating in her mouth, scraping at her tongue. She’s not even sure what she was going to say. “What matters is that SHIELD stays secure, and that you help me keep it secure.”

There are words meant to escape her lips, a thought that is still emerging from her synapses. She can’t name it, but she can’t deny its power. She’s struck with the bewildering need for the director to get it out of her. But what question does she want him to ask?

If she doesn’t know the answer, she should at least know the question.

"Fitz wouldn't hurt anyone," she says. "He's devoted his whole career to protecting people. Agents _and_ civilians. He came up with the ICERs because he didn't want any more bloodshed than was absolutely necessary. There's no way he would put anyone at risk."

He looks down at his readout, at the part of her soul that this machine has turned into data. 

"Okay, Agent Simmons," he says. "That's enough for today. You're free to go."

She blinks back at him, sure she's misunderstood. "Excuse me?"

"The test came back clean. Everything you said was true."

"Of course it was," she says quickly, then thinks better of it. "I mean, a team that trusts . . ."

He smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Thank you. Dismissed."

She walks down the hall not sure why she's so worked up, why she still feels like she has something to say. Shouldn't she just be thankful that she made it through unscathed?

And yet, she'd still like to give him an earful, to tell him that anyone who doesn't trust Fitz is a fool. She knows better than anyone how useful he is, how his good heart has always kept the team on track. 

With no outlet for her rage, Jemma takes a deep breath, lets it out, and goes back to work.

The best thing she can do for Fitz is continue to gain all the power she can, so that no one, within SHIELD or without, can rip them apart again. 

* * *

**The Framework, April 2017**

 

She's not sure how she managed to get back in this chair again, with this same man looking down on her. He's the same man, but he's different—in his stance, in his smile, in his eyes. This is not a man who's putting on a show for anyone's benefit.

She wonders why he ended up in such a better position than the others—morally, at least, if not legally. He may be Hydra's enemy number one, but that's a badge of honor in the real world. By the way he looks down on her, a part of him must know it.

He is exactly what Coulson expected him to be, what they all _wanted_  him to be when they learned their first choice for director was off the table. Six months ago, the confidence in his eyes would be a beacon of hope. Now, they're a reminder that she'll have to fight her way to the top again.

"So tell me," demands Mace, "do you want to take Leopold Fitz as a hostage to help with the resistance, or do you simply want to rescue him?"

"I want to rescue him, of course," she says, unable to resist an eyeroll. "I want to rescue all of you. All I need to do is find out your physical location, and then I'll go back to the real world and get you out of here."

"Miss Simmons . . ."

" _Doctor_ Simmons."

"Doctor Simmons," he allows. "Are you aware that the man you want to save is responsible for the wide-scale persecution of Inhumans, as well as the murder of Inhumans and their sympathizers?"

She digs her nails into the soft leather of the armrest, telling herself to stay calm. "I don't know what he's done in this world," she admits, "but I know who he is inside, no matter what this world has twisted him into. He is a good man who wants to protect people, and I'm going to save him, whether you help me or not."

Mace smiles, and it's the same smile she's always hated, but this is different, too. This isn't a snake protecting itself as much as it's a snake stalking prey. 

"Hydra would love for you to believe that. They'd love for all of us to believe that, wouldn't they?" He lifts his hands, palms up, to invite participation from the room. The surrounding agents give various grunts of assent. "Hydra wants us to think that everything they're doing is for the benefit of mankind. The only problem is the asterisk they have there at the end. Apparently to them, mankind is an exclusive club."

"That's not how it is where I come from," she says, shaking her head because she can't emphasize it enough. "Fitz made sure of that. He was a vocal proponent of Inhuman inclusion from the first moment he realized he'd met one."

She nods towards Daisy, who crosses her arms and steps back. Why is she silent? The last time she'd been in this chair, she'd felt cut off from the world. Now, she is the focus of dozens of eyes—most of them familiar—and she wants to cut herself off from all of them.

"It's true," Daisy finally says, though there's a hesitancy in her voice. "He was the first person to realize that I had powers, and he protected me." Daisy's eyes go to her shoes. "Even . . . even when the other members of the team wanted to cure me. He told them that I wasn't a disease."

Ah. 

Perhaps the strangest thing about this place is its way of opening old woulds, of bringing up the arguments that were supposed to have been put to rest. What if Daisy never found her potential? What if Ward had been good? What if Mace had actually been an agent instead of a puppet?

She'll talk to Daisy later, but the real question now is Mace. He's the riddle she has to solve. She knows how to beat the real Mace, but this one? 

"We'll ask you questions later," Mace tells Daisy. "For now, I'm more interested in hearing what Doctor Simmons has to say." He turns to her, and she's sure that he could make the mightiest heads of Hydra quake in their boots, but she has to stand firm. "So I ask you again: after all the things he's done, and considering the value he would have as a hostage, why do you think we should go into this with the intent of letting him go free?"

She can't look into his piercing eyes, so she closes hers and takes a breath. She;ds trying to remember Fitz's goodness, but instead she sees the pain of the machine meant to take his place. It's not just this SHIELD that sees Fitz as a villain—Fitz sees it himself. His imposter admitted it through tears meant to tear her down, but the real Fitz would agree to the sentiment. Anyone who knows Fitz as well as she does knows that Fitz would take responsibility for all the Framework has done.

And Mace—the real Mace, the one who infected an entire agency with his own insecurity—would find some justification in his paranoia turned prophecy.

So, when she takes all that into account—what Fitz thinks, what Mace feared, and what they all have lost—how can she find a rational argument for his pardon?

For some reason, she thinks of Yoyo. Jemma is here for Fitz, yes, but Yoyo made her promise to save them all. Would she change her mind about Fitz, if she saw who he is here? Jemma doesn't think so.

Jemma thinks Yoyo would sit in a lie detector and have the courage to speak the truth. 

"You should let him go free because I want him to go free," she says. She makes herself straighten. "You should help me because you don't want to find out what happens to my enemies. I _am_ going save Fitz, and I'll destroy anyone who stands in my way." Her chest is heaving, the adrenaline is surging, and Jemma feels that a part of her is being set free. "So, what is it, Mace? Is it SHIELD or Hydra I should go after?"

And somehow, when he smiles to tell her she's won, she doesn't want to stop fighting.

* * *

**The Playground, May 2017**

 

"Hey," the voice says.

Jemma knows it's time to get up, but she just wants five more minutes of warmth before she goes into the cold world. She turns away from the light.

"Hey, Simmons! You have a visitor."

She'd know that accent anywhere, but why is Yoyo here? Doesn't she know that Jemma needs her sleep?

"He's been waiting to talk to you. Do you want to talk to him?"

Insatiable curiosity beats bone-crushing exhaustion, and she's thrilled when her field of vision is filled with Fitz.

"I'm going to give you two a moment," Yoyo says, her voice growing distant, "but let me know if you need anything, okay?" 

She sees Fitz nod and thinks she must do the same, clumsy as her attempt is. The light comes from above, and it's like he's glowing. Like he's an angel.

"Fitz," she says, and it's like it's a reflex. That's just what you say when you wake up to a new world. "Fitz," she repeats, and she reaches for his face, so gratified when she makes contact that she wants to weep.

"Hey there, Jemma," he says, with so much love in his eyes that it blinds her. "You're on a lot of drugs, so, just take it easy, okay?"

"Take it easy," she repeats. "If I took it easy, we'd all be dead."

He smiles, then takes the hand on his cheek and drops a kiss into her palm. "You're probably right about that. But you'd also be out of this bed by now if you hadn't gotten so many battle scars before you got in it."

She tries to understand what he means, but her thoughts are slippery. She has to ignore him in favor of something bubbling in her heart, something that's bursting to get out. She knows she usually holds these things back, but for the life of her, she doesn't know why.

"You know where you are, right? How much do you remember?"

She remembers lying down in a bed—no, not this bed, but _a_ bed. She remembers digging herself out of despair. And she remembers _him_ , so cold an uncaring, so unlike the man who sits before her now.

She spent so long fighting for him, against all odds and despite the consequences of his own actions, and she's missed him so much.

"Fitz," she says, suddenly serious. "I have to tell you something."

Both of her hands are on his cheeks now, and she's pulling him in.

"Yeah?" He talks funny with his face smooshed, and she loves it. "Is everything okay?"

Everything is okay except for the weight on her heart, and how long has it weighed her down? She's too tired to carry it anymore.

"Fitz," she says when his nose touches hers, "I have to be so careful with you."

She smiles, proud of herself, but Fitz furrows his brow. "What—what do you mean?"

She rolls her eyes at him, sure he's being willfully obtuse. "I have to be careful with you! So they don't take you away! Or so you won't run away." She frowns, feeling silly for making herself sad. "That would be the worst thing, I think. You running away." Her thoughts are in a haze, but she sees one thing clearly: the belly of the quinjet, and the way he looks when he tells her that he's going to leave. She shakes her head to push the memory away. "There's nothing wrong with being in love with you. I don't know why I always have to hide it."

He takes her hands and kisses them like he did before, except now he clasps them under his chin. "It not like it's a secret," he says. "Everyone knows what we are."

"No," she says. "You don't know. Nobody does. You don't know that—" She feels like she's swimming against a current, like the right words keep slipping away. "Fitz," she says, leaning her forehead against his, "I would have stayed there with you."

He frees a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Stayed where?"

"In the ocean."

She hears him suck in a breath, and she spews out the words before he runs away again. "You lied to me, Fitz. I didn't know there was just one breath. I didn't want you to leave."

She waits for him to speak like she's waiting for judgment to be placed on her. She hears him shift in his seat. 

"I wasn't going anywhere," he says, "that was the point."

"That was _your_ choice, not mine. _You_ left." She gulps her fear down, knowing she can't stop now. "So, I took you with me. I took you everywhere I went, Fitz. To Hydra, to that planet—everywhere. I never wanted you to leave. But I had to be careful."

"Okay," he says, cupping her cheek, "so don't be careful anymore."

"It's not wrong to be in love with you," she says. "It shouldn't scare you way. It shouldn't make them think I'm weak." She remembers the leather armchair under her fingertips, the righteousness burning in her chest. "I trust you because I love you, and that's not wrong, either. Do you think—do you think I could fall in love with just anybody?" She looks into his eyes, trying to decipher the meaning behind them. "It should be better if I love you, not worse. Because _I'm_ better." She furrows her brow. "And all of you should be able to see that."

"Jemma," he says, and he looks at her so intently that she has to stop to take notice. She expects him to smile at her, to pat her head like she's a child (she _feels_ like a child), but instead, his face grows solemn. "Thank you, Jemma."

She's got wires and cords everywhere, but he draws her into a hug the best he can. She's a little surprised by the weight of him, but she does her best to hold him up.

She wonders, when she feels his tears soak through her shirt, if this has something to do with what he said before, with what Mace said before. She wonders if he still thinks all of this is his fault.

She waits for him to say something, but she realizes that the words don't need to come. She's already said them all.

And somehow, Fitz is still with her.

"Will you stay with me?" she asks when he's cried all his tears. He clutches her tighter.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says.

She lets herself relax, knowing he's telling the truth, knowing she hasn't lost him. She's said everything she needs to say, and that plus having Fitz here is the best feeling in the world.

There is a part of her, though, that knows that her mind is not the same as it usually is, and soon it will go back to where it was. When it does, Fitz will know the secret she's kept for so long.

She smiles, burying herself in his shoulder, holding him as tightly as she can.

"Good," she says.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first 500 words of this way back in September, before we really got a good look at Jeffrey Mace. It's been sitting as a fragment in my drafts folder for months, and I've been agonizing how to finish it until I saw the promo for 4x17! I guess fic dreams do come true!
> 
> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


End file.
